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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23637433">Pull the stars down to us</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackberreh/pseuds/Blackberreh'>Blackberreh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Canon-Typical Violence, Gladiators, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Time Travel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:01:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,262</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23637433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackberreh/pseuds/Blackberreh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus Prime joined with the Well of All Sparks without an ounce of regret weighing down his spark. He was done, and he was happy.</p><p>He didn't expect to wake up at all - let alone in a time long since passed.</p><p>Primus, it would seem, wasn't done with him quite yet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Megatron/Optimus Prime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>547</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here we are - after being in and out and back into the fandom for years, I'm finally writing my first TF fic lmao</p><p>This is honestly the first time I've written in around half a year, so please forgive any awkwardness or mistakes. And though by this point I have read quite a few comics and a hell of a lot of fic, I still feel like my familiarity with various TF lore is nowhere near as good as it could be.</p><p>That being said, I hope you enjoy! It's primarily Prime-verse with a mashup of IDW for past Cybertron related histories because my knowledge of the Aligned Continuity is very much second hand save for the TFP show.</p><p>I'll also try and draw more art for it, but weirdly enough, I find TFP designs harder for some reason xD</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first time in what felt like his whole existence, Optimus Prime knew peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The burden of leadership no longer weighed on his shoulders. He had done what he needed to - what was expected of him. What he believed in. His spark for the good of thousands - it was an easy decision to make. The others, his dearest friends and comrades, no longer had need of him. Finally, with the war finished, with the Decepticons disbanded, with Megatron disappearing into self-exile -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could rest. He could rest, and allow all of the burdens and guilts and expectations that had been anchoring him down to break away. His spark, the Matrix of Leadership, to help jumpstart Cybertron into a new era. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An era of peace, and prosperity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the logical choice to make. It was the one he wanted, in a selfish bid, to make as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was done, and he was happy.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Primus, it would seem, believed that he was far </span>
  <em>
    <span>from</span>
  </em>
  <span> being done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if not Primus, then it was some other force that was sadistically not allowing him to rest peacefully within the depths of the Allspark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Awareness came to him in flashes. The sound - klaxons blearing, loud and piercing in his audials. His vision fritzed in and out - the dim blues of a familiar place he couldn’t quite put a name too, thrown into red relief as the alarms sounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a screen before him, he realised dimly. The glyphs and words on it didn’t make sense to his glitching processor, still reeling from whatever had put him in this state, but there was something about this situation that felt -  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Familiar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He struggled to rise. His limbs felt heavy, too heavy. In direct contrast, his chassis - his spark chamber - felt too light. Empty. Something was missing, something important, something -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voices. Shouting. The familiar sound of energy weapons charging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A demand reached his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus couldn’t understand it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Awareness slipped from him.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Orion Pax.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been millenia since he had been addressed by that name. Well, save for a tiny, insurmountable little blip that Optimus did not want to think about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He onlined his optics. Reset them and tried again when he got nothing but static. When he had the same result, he gave up and tried to speak instead, but all that emitted from his vocalizer was a reedy, garbled noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a sound droning. A voice - the same that had spoken his old designation, but no matter how hard Optimus tried he couldn’t focus. It was like a heavy blanket of fog filled his processor, his limbs, his very spark, and the only thing he could do was drift through it. There was something lingering in the deep recesses - a fear of what was going on, of not being able to function properly that pinged across his sensors every now and then, but even that was short lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More flashes of awareness came, as an insurmountable amount of time passed. He couldn’t even check his chronometer to tell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More voices. He was unable to discern what they said, but he had the distinct impression that they were interrogating him. Optimus remembered staring into the optics of the faces of mechs that seemed familiar and yet not, and one time - just one - he was able to get his vocalizer to cooperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words that he said seemed pathetic, in the wake of things. “I do not know.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As pathetic as they were, they were true. He knew they were asking things, important things that required proper answers, but he couldn’t process what they were asking. He didn’t understand their accusations. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t understand what was going on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, as yet more time passed and he went through more flashes of awareness, he began to realise something - they, whoever they were, thought he had done something. Seen something. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Seen something that he wasn’t supposed to have seen.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fear coiled through his circuits. Fear had been a great component of his life, though he had managed to keep it at bay. He had to be strong - showing fear would be a detriment to morale. There were already too many things at play that affected the morale of his comrades, so Optimus refused to allow his feelings to affect them negatively as well. So used to playing the fearless leader that over time, it had become so much easier to ignore the fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t hold it back now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered - when he had first woken up. The familiar screens, the familiar glyphs. It had been his old work station in Iacon. It had been destroyed millenia ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the faces he saw above him - brief glimpses when he was able to focus - names floated through his processor, attaching to the faces of Senators that had been long since offlined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This couldn’t be happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Primus, what was happening?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally - after what felt like so many solar cycles had passed - he heard something that pierced through the haze coating his processor. Clarity had never been so terrifying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no telling what he saw. Not in the state he is in. Killing him will be too troublesome, so for now the best decision would be to remove his vocal processor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just in case</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what do we do with him? We can’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>let him go free!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A scoff. “Of course not. I think the gladiatorial pits sound like a good idea, hmm? Simply say that he is guilty of espionage and throw him to those savages. Who knows, maybe he’ll put on a good show for us. Look at that frame - it’s practically built for war.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A humm of consideration. Optimus tried to move - tried to force his limbs through the fog, but he was - held down. He couldn’t even twitch a servo. A noise escaped him - something anguised, something that died in a burst of static.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a good idea.” Came the response. “No one will believe a criminal, even if he manages to survive the pits and convey anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I believe it’s been decided.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murmurs of agreement surrounded him, and once again, his awareness fizzled out.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hold him down! What is wrong with yo- ACK!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus' fist made contact with the mech's cheek exactly once before his arm was wrenched back down to the medical berth by a security guard and was promptly restrained by the magna lock. A growl rumbled from Optimus' chassis and he tried desperately to pull himself off, thrashing his body with all of his strength, but it was fruitless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was well and truly stuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh give up already." The mech he had punched sneered. He'd picked himself up off the floor and was nursing his cracked faceplate, his optics narrowed and his lips pulled into a grimace. "There is truly no point in struggling. You want this over? Just sit </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>be quiet. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The more you try and delay it the worse it will be for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus recognised this mech. At first, he had felt a swell of hope at the sight of the red, white, and blue plating, the medic symbols bright and proud on his wings. But Pharma's gaze had been cold, dispassionate as Optimus had been marched in and settled onto the berth, and Optimus began to fear once more. Pharma had been an Autobot - one of their best medics, second only to Ratchet. To think he was doing the Senate's dirty work-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dexterous fingers manually popped the medical port on his chassis, and Optimus tried to buck again, to wrench his lumps from the magnetized berth, but it was useless. Pharma didn't look at him as he created a hardline between them, and began to scowl as he was brought up short by Optimus' firewalls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of them were Ratchet's handiwork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the pause didn't last for long, and the medic gave no indication that he recognised his friend's handiwork. Pharma's medical overrides took care of them after a moment, and then there he was - a foreign, oily presence in his systems, impossible to ignore and impossible to fight, the feeling of helplessness only grew and grew. Foreign coding swept through Optimus' frame, and icy panic gripped his spark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went limp on the berth, utterly against his will, and Pharma leaned over him with a small, patronizing smile, and tapped at his neck with light fingers. "There we go. It will be over before you know it, Orion Pax. Just relax. Plenty of mechs do perfectly fine without a vocal processor, and I’m sure you will as well."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blackness encroached his vision, and he was offline in seconds.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Optimus felt like he was floating, suspended in space. A haze of white fog swirled around him, before it abruptly settled beneath him, and spread above him as far as the optics could see was a blanket of dark, star filled space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This felt familiar, and in its familiarity was comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The comfort did not last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slow, creeping anxiety began to bubble within him, starting from his spark and creeping through his lines, leaving what felt like ice in its wake. A phantom sensation in his throat - a prick of sharp, stabbing pain that caused his optical feed to glitch, and a burst of static escaped him. He tried to yell - tried to speak, even - but no words managed to escape him. Just hisses and pops, a static filled binary noise, and Optimus clutched his throat and felt scarred, broken metal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The calm peace of the world he found himself in was broken, and then - the fog around him dissolved into nothing, and Optimus fell through a void of cold, lonely space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>--</p><p>
  <span>He fell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fell, and didn't stop falling. His spark thrummed wildly in its casing, the missing weight of the Matrix all the more noticeable, and Optimus realised that now he was well and truly alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Matrix had always been a comforting, if heavy, presence within him. He had felt it in both his spark and his processor, the warmth of its power, the song made of the murmurs and whispers of the Primes of the past a constant white noise in his audials.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Long ago - so, so long ago, when he had first taken on the burden for himself, Optimus had felt like he was going to be driven into madness. The loss of his dearest friend, the loss of his own identity, and the sheer overwhelming force of the ancient artifact now nestled within him had cast him adrift into a sea of doubt and fear. Was he truly worthy? Did he really have the strength and conviction to back the words of peace and equality that he spouted?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were many times when he stared into the alien red optics of the mech he had loved, twisted with a malice and madness that had not been there before, that Optimus thought he didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time, however, had proven otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cynical part of his processor whispered, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Some strength and conviction. If I truly had the strength and conviction needed, then the war would have ended earlier. All those lives I was responsible for as Prime would not have been extinguished. Cybertron would have never been lost.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I had just taken care of Megatron in the beginning, none of it would have happened.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus continued to fall, and as he did, doubts and self loathing filled him until he felt like his spark was going to suffocate under the weight of it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until finally, he hit the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shiver wracked through his frame, causing his armour to rattle loudly. Groggily, he shifted his helm and tried to online his optics. Errors flashed up on his HUD, the warning glyphs confusing to his fog-addled processor - he saw flashing red signals, warnings - low energy, low fuel - a few joints cracked and strained that his self repair was taking care of - an error message regarding his missing vocal processor -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Awareness came all too quickly at that. He became more aware of his surroundings - of a tight grip on his upper arms, of his weight held on his… knees. Voices - a dull drone, whispers and mutters, and a clearer, louder one that became more easy to understand as the seconds passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-nceforth that Orion Pax is now a part of our little family.” There was a pause, and a mocking laugh. “I’m sure you’ll all treat him with great care and respect. Drop him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grip on his arms released, and Optimus fell to the ground with a loud clang. A pained noise tried to escape him, but nothing happened. There really wasn’t - his vocalizer wasn’t -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to online his optics, but streaks of grey and discoloured pixels overtook his vision.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He will be given some time to acclimate before he is organised into any matches.” The voice continued, and something nudged the side of his thigh. There was a scoff. “Make sure not to damage him too much. The higher ups want to at least give him a fighting chance. That is all for now - dismissed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of movement - more muttered noises, mechs retreating from wherever the hell they were, and Optimus struggled to get his arms underneath him to push himself up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was someone crouching before him, large clawed hands curling around his shoulders to help straighten him. A field brushed against his own, familiar and warm and laced with fear and concern and an almost overpowering rage - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Orion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus’ vision focused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue optics met his, scarred mouth twisted into a grimace, and Optimus acted on instinct, his battlemask snapping into place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His balled fist hit Megatron’s abdomen, sending him to the ground with a crash. His frame was weak - he was barely in control of his limbs - but he didn’t let that stop him. He staggered to his pedes, optics never leaving Megatron’s shocked, hunched form, and lashed out with a leg. Metal screeched as the blow hit Megatron’s helm, and the warlord was forced to raise his arms in defence against another blow. A snarl escaped him, and he barked, “Soundwave!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stupid - </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Optimus should have realised that of course Megatron would not be alone. Before he could turn to confront his other foe, the sleek purple metal of Soundwave’s tentacles wrapped around his waist and one of his arms, jerking him back and away from the downed warlord.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking advantage of that, Optimus planted both feet on the ground and pushed himself along with the motion, turning as he did. The sound of his blade unsheathing from his arm was all the warning Soundwave got before it slid into his shoulder, cleaving through metal and wire and energon lines. A burst of pained static escaped the spymaster’s vocaliser, his visor flashing an alarmed white as he staggered unsteadily, and Optimus put all of his weight into it, pushing Soundwave back into the nearby wall. Claws scrabbled at Optimus’ plating - thick and black, stronger than the delicate ones Optimus had in recent memory - and that was enough to make Optimus pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Orion! Calm down!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was yanked back, Soundwave’s tentacles falling lax from his frame. The blade slid from Soundwave’s shoulder, leaving energon to gush from the severed lines, and the spymaster quickly pressed a servo to the wound in an effort to stem the bleeding. Optimus twisted back around, blade raised, but his arm was caught in a firm grip and his leg was kicked out from underneath him, causing him to fall to one knee with a jarring clang. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Megatron was kneeling there before him, his hold tight, unyielding. Optimus vented heavily, his processor skipping and grinding to a halt as blue optics caught his own and held them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fight drained from him, leaving him weak and strutless, and it was only the grip of the other mech that kept him steady. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those eyes. That field. This was… this was…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Orion.” Megatron - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Megatronus</span>
  </em>
  <span> murmured. “What have they done to you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Gosh I was literally blown away by the response the first chapter got ;v; I'm honestly so happy that so many people seemed to like it ahhh;;;</p><p>I hope you like this chapter!!!! I had something better in mind for the pic but I'm not feeling too well, so that sketchy thing is all you get x''D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was with a heavy spark and a churning tank that Optimus found himself seated on a berth within the Gladiator’s barracks, alone with the mech who would become his enemy, and be responsible for their entire world’s upheaval.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And I played no small part in it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, He told himself resignedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatron - no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Megatronus, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Optimus had to keep correcting himself, because this was before Megatron had become the twisted mockery that dominated his memories - sat across from him, seated on the lone stool that furnished the room. His great claws were clasped together, bright blue optics feeling like they were boring holes into Optimus’ helm and bearing witness to the chaotic swirl of thoughts that churned through his processor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus couldn’t bring himself to meet his optics. It felt cowardly, avoiding that gaze, but he couldn’t muster the courage. He felt tired, and out of his depth, and by Primus he -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just… He just wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>rest</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soundwave had disappeared at some point between the reception area Optimus had been dumped by the Overseer, and Megatron’s personal quarters. Optimus assumed to take care of the injury he had received, and Optimus felt an off putting mix of vindication and regret at having dealt the spymaster such a blow. But even still, he was grateful to escape the watchful optics of those other gladiators that had lingered, curious as to what the top Gladiator wanted with the newbie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus had vaguely recognised some of the faces. Some would become Autobots. Others would join Megatron with the Decepticons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t felt at all relieved to see Overlord, of all mechs, watching with a sly grin and calculating optics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus had hauled him to his peddes and led him through the halls and twists and turns that made up the barracks. It was large, and the layout felt needlessly complicated, but Optimus was too tired to truly care. Megatronus didn’t speak another word, simply ushered him away from prying optics and audials, and sequestered them away within his personal quarters. They were large, and for his use only considering his popularity - Optimus remembered that the better your standing with the crowds, the better your win/loss ratio, the better your privileges.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Optimus remembered, very faintly, when Megatronus had first gotten quarters all to himself. They hadn’t been able to meet often, but Megatronus had found himself with permission to leave the pits for a few joors, and Optimus - Orion then - had eagerly agreed to meet him and share energon. They’d been sharing correspondence for close to a stellar cycle at that point, and Orion had felt a thrill of excitement every time he was able to meet Megatronus in person.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He hadn’t even been disappointed that Soundwave had followed along, the ever silent shadow that Orion had quickly gotten used to. It had been a quiet evening at Maccadam’s, and Orion had been floating on a cloud of warmth and excitement as he listened to Megatronus recount his most recent victories, and the freedom of privacy it had given him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No longer do I have to have my recharge interrupted by the others,” He crowed with a savage grin, one that never failed to send thrills up and down Orion’s spinal strut. “I swear to Primus, if I had to listen to Grimlock’s snoring in his recharge any longer I may have-” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wouldn’t have followed through with his threats. Behind the scenes, the gladiators had a nearly unbreakable sense of camaraderie - at least, the strongest of them did. Built more on a sense of respect for each other's battle prowess than actual friendship</span>
  </em>
  <span> - </span>
  <em>
    <span>and they were able to put aside it all when matched up against one another in the pit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Orion never understood how they could fight - almost kill one another - and then go back to the way things were so seamlessly. But then again, Orion was coming to learn that there was still a lot about the world that he didn’t understand. The archives were full of knowledge, but knowledge could only do so much for you in the wake of real world experience.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s why he adored talking with Megatronus. He adored listening to his experiences, his views. He adored the way his optics lit up and his servos moved as he spoke. He adored the way Megatronus focused all of that savage intensity onto Orion when he talked, as if Orion was the centre of his universe. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Orion adored Megatronus so much-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"Orion."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus gave a start, his optics snapping to the mech seated across from him. Megatronus had leaned forwards, elbows resting on his thighs, still observing Optimus with those intense, searching optics. Optimus barely even felt his EM field anymore; all he felt was a faint trace of that anger/concern that seemed so </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> after everything Optimus had experienced.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was to be expected,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he told himself and clenched his hands together, unconsciously  mirroring Megatronus' pose. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He still believes me to be Orion. He hasn't fallen. Not yet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Primus, wasn't that a thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can you tell me what happened?" The gladiator said after he knew he had Optimus' attention. "Why you're here, why you're expected to fight, why you…" his gaze swept Optimus' frame. "Look like that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah…. Before he had been rebuilt by the Matrix twice over, Orion had been a small mech. Hardly a warbuild, his function had been to research and keep records. A glorified librarian, tasked with cataloguing and safeguarding the histories of Cybertron and its people. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, of course, he knew just how doctored the histories were, and just how corrupt the Senate was. His processor suddenly clicked into gear, and Optimus realised that - somehow - the Senate must believe that Optimus accessed sensitive information, and decided to deal with it like this - throwing him to the Gladiator Pits, and letting the bloodsports deal with him in a way that would not lead back to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all so… so </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculous</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Optimus had no idea how he had traveled back into the past or where he had ended up upon arrival. Somewhere restricted, perhaps? But no, when he thought about it, he thought he recognised where he had -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Orion.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus gave a start, his optics snapping to Megatronus’ once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gladiator was looking at him with even more concern, and looked to be about to stand up and come over and -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, Optimus couldn’t deal with that. He couldn’t deal with that comfort. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jerkily, Optimus shook his helm, and Megatronus slowly lowered himself back down into the stool. But he leaned forward, field palpably radiating concern, and Optimus let out a shaky ex-vent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If his servo trembled a little, he didn’t let himself dwell on it. He was unable to speak in this situation, so he couldn’t give Megatronus the answers he desired. He would have to make do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus raised his chin up, exposing the cables of his neck. A brief sweep of his fingers revealed - well, hardly the amount of scarring he would have thought. A rather jagged weld line, about half the length of a finger, and he looked Megatronus in the optics as he gave the weld line a tap.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t speak.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The message was clear enough, and understanding dawned on Megatronus’ faceplates. Scarred lips twisted in a snarl, sharp dentae bared, and the growl that emanated from his chassis was truly savage. It took all Optimus had to keep from visibly tensing, and he watched the gladiator with wary optics, watching to see what he would do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He certainly didn’t intend for Megatronus to stand from the stool and stride from the room. Optimus watched him go in surprise, and for the first time since returning to the past he found himself alone. His processor swirled with thoughts, trying to parse together what in the pit Megatronus could be doing. Within his chassis, his spark thrummed with a nervous anxiety, and after a moment he shuttered his optics. No point in going to follow - Primus knows he wouldn’t be able to navigate the barracks in this state. Best to just… sit and wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d almost fallen into recharge by the time Megatronus returned. The sound of arguing heralded his entrance, and the door slid aside to show the scowling gladiator and an equally unimpressed medic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus, somehow, thought he shouldn’t have been surprised. Knock Out had to have been connected to the Decepticons somehow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“- I’m only a trainee!” The disgruntled medic was saying, kibble flared in agitation. “I’m barely capable of patching up tall, dark, and silent over there, what makes you think I’m capable of fixing your friend to any satisfactory degree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because Flatline is unavailable, and as his apprentice, you will do it in his place.” Megatronus growled, leaving no room for argument. Knock Out scowled up at him, but it was obvious that he had conceded. He took a very careful step away from the imposing Gladiator into the room, and his red optics sought out Optimus’ hunched form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knockout hadn’t changed much over the millenia it would seem. His paint job was just as flashy, though this time it was highlighted with bits of blue to compliment the red. The medic’s insignia was visible on his shoulders too. He took in an obvious vent, before he strode in with a very much plastered on genial smile. “Orion Pax, was it? My designation is Knock Out and I have been-” He cast a baleful glare to the larger form of Megatronus as he slipped into the room, Soundwave behind him, a silent shadow as ever. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> to look you over for any damage. Is that alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus hesitated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d already had one medic rooting around his frame - one that he had some degree of trust for, only to have that unknowing trust betrayed. He didn’t particularly want the one who would become the Decepticon’s primary medic into his systems now either. Not that he truly believed the medic meant any harm, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus observed him closely. Too closely for Optimus’ comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you wish,” he said, and he sounded reluctant even as he spoke, “I can call for your medic friend. I believe you would be more comfortable with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus cycled his optics in surprise. Megatronus meant…. Ratchet?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t believe he had forgotten. Ratchet… his oldest, dearest friend, one of the only holdovers from his life as Orion Pax. Well. One of the only ones that hasn't tried to offline him, which was… actually a distressing number, now that he thought about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of course Ratchet would wish to see him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course he would</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Primus, if he found out about Optimus' situation he would be… he would be furious. More than furious. Especially if he discovered it was Pharma who…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus rubbed the scarred metal on his neck, an unconscious gesture he didn't truly register.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to see Ratchet. He wished then, desperately, for his oldest friend's familiar, comforting presence. His grumbling lectures, his sarcastic remarks, his tough love. Even over countless centuries Ratchet had never truly changed. Perhaps grown more bitter and jaded, yes, but at spark he was still intrinsically the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as much as he wanted to, Optimus felt he couldn't see Ratchet. Not yet. He feared it may be the final thing his psyche needed to make him shatter, and who knows how long it would take him to piece himself back together. It would just… it would be too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing wrong with allowing Knock Out to scan him. So long as he didn't try a hardline connection, it… it would be fine. Even if he doubted that the medic-in-training would find anything beyond his missing vox box, he couldn't handle another invasion like that again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, after not answering for what had to be a few tension laden minutes, Optimus shook his head. He gestured a shaking servo to Knock Out, and averted his optics, instead focusing firmly on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The medic-in-training pulled a scanner out of his subspace and began fiddling with it, and Optimus - unable to keep his attention off of them - slid his oprics back to Megatronus and Soundwave. Being alone in confined quarters with three who would become his enemies was not doing good for Optimus’ battle protocols, but he did his best to ignore the pinging of his HUD.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus and Soundwave exchanged a glance, and then Soundwave strode forwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus tensed, but all Soundwave did was crouch before him, and held out his servos. This is… not what Optimus expected. At all. He frowned in confusion, looking between the two gladiators, and after a moment's hesitation slid his servos into Soundwave's.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, the sensation of thick but agile claws sliding across his servos and manipulating them to form a series of words wasn't something that Optimus would have expected to feel, and it had been - so, so long since he had ever had </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to understand the movements and touches that it took almost a second too late for Optimus to register what was being said.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Do you speak hand / Megatronus informed you were learning."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus could only stare into Soundwave's blank visor, struck dumb, his mouth hanging open behind his battle mask. Primus it had been… how long ago? He vaguely remembered expressing an interest to learn to Megatronus centuries ago, and the gladiator may have mentioned Soundwave, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only after well into the war, after Megatron had torn out Bumblebee's vocal processor that Optimus had taken it upon himself to learn. So he could help give Bumblebee a voice. In the end, Bumblebee decided that he would prefer to communicate in binary, as it was significantly less… intimate, and something that more mechs understood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus didn't have the luxury. Bumblebee had still had trace components needed to make sound. Optimus' had been removed with surgical precision. He… he hadn't had need to use chirolinguistics in a long time. It was a miracle he still remembered how to-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soundwave's grip relaxed, and he seemed to be about to pull away before Optimus tightened his grip on his claws and gave a jerky nod of his helm.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I know it / it has been a while." </span>
  </em>
  <span>He quickly signed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>"Forgive me Soundwave / you took me by surprise."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Soundwave tilted his helm, and his frame relaxed somewhat. Clawed digits moved swiftly, almost too fast for Optimus to actually read. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Good / Megatronus worried / Very angry / Lost / You need to inform us what happened to you / Need to know if you are alright.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus had to firmly grip Soundwave’s digits to get him to stop. This close, he could feel the spymaster’s field, usually kept so tightly and restrained, invisible to everyone unless you were close enough - and truthfully, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to get close to Soundwave? The silent Decepticon was one of the most dangerous fighters within the Decepticon fleet, his strengths and abilities honed within the same Gladiator pits as Megatron’s had been. He was unflappable, unemotional and -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Currently, his field was practically rippling with concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was… disconcerting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Orion, Optimus had only personally interacted with the other mech a handful of times. He hadn’t thought Soundwave even thought well of Orion, and was only there because Megatronus was there, acting as his ever silent spy and guard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was just… exceptionally odd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Soundwave was staring at him with a cocked helm, and his visor flickered to life. A single symbol - a question glyph, and Optimus </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> needed to stop getting lost in his own processor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sucked in an invent, and slowly replied. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I am as well as can be expected / I cannot speak / I cannot make any sound / Senate had my vocal processor removed so I could not speak / I do not know why they put me here / I do not know how I wound up in their servos / They think I know something / Sensitive information perhaps / I do not know for certain.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Soundwave considered this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“The senate put you here expecting you to die / Leave no trace back to them.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus gave a slow nod. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“That is what I thought / Yes / I truly know nothing though / I don’t understand why-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He forced himself to stop, and dropped Soundwave’s servos. It… was a lie. He did understand why the Senate did this - disposing of a conceived threat in this way. There were so many dirty little secrets - so many things that could destroy the Senate and expose the corruption that festered within its ranks. They couldn’t discern of Optimus had truly seen anything sensitive, so they were disposing of him just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was disposable in their eyes. He knew he had been the moment the Matrix of Leadership had chosen him, and they had seen a new opportunity appear before their eyes. They had thought Orion Pax, with his passionate but naive views, would be an easy tool for them to mold to their liking. He was a weapon to be used as they saw fit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had ultimately been their downfall. In the end, the only ones to survive the first upheaval had been the Decepticons, and the Autobots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And right now... Optimus was in no position to do anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t even have the Matrix anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Primus, what was he going to do?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Soundwave, respectfully, rose to his pedes and stepped back to Megatron, and Optimus cradled his helm in his servos. His spark was a leaden weight in his chest, and the sense of powerlessness - of complete, utter helplessness threatened to engulf him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why… Why couldn’t he have just joined the Well of Allsparks when he had the chance? Why was this happening?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was the sound of a vocalisor clearing. Knock Out. “Erm. Well. Alright, the scan shows you to be in perfect condition - except for the missing vocal processor. Truly, it was done in a bit of a rush job. There’s some scarring around the protoform that a better medic would have been able to avoid.” There was a quiet scoff, a moment of silence, a muttered apology, and then the medic-in-training kept speaking. “There is, however, something odd that my scanner is picking up. If you open your chest compartment then-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Optimus’ head snapped up and he pressed a servo down on his chassis, glaring at the red mech with icy eyes, his engines giving a low warning growl. No. He was not going to expose his spark, not here, not with his battle protocols screaming at him, not with his would-be enemies a mere arm’s length away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was not happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knock Out took a hesitant step back. “Er - well, alright, I won’t fight you on that. Perhaps a direct line to your coding would be more comfortable-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Another engine growl, and Optimus stood to his full height, towering over the medic-in-training. The sudden movement sent his processor spinning, dizziness almost toppling him over, but he managed to keep himself upright. He jerked his helm a negative, and Knock Out gave a high pitched “Alright, alright then!” and retreated back to where Megatronus and Soundwave stood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It left a clear divide between them. Optimus, without his voice, feeling like he was going to topple over and recharge into the next stellar cycle. Megatronus, and Soundwave, and Knockout, watching him with varying degrees of concern and not a little fear and -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all too much. Static filled Optimus’ vision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t feel himself hit the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lemme know what you think~!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Brief Interlude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>SO</p><p>ITS BEEN A BIT HUH.</p><p>Sorry about that lol. But hey I finally had time and the inspiration to write for this because I sliced up my hand and cant actually draw - which is my job. So yeah.</p><p>This is short but It kinda had to be done. I hope you guys like this lil bit fro Megatronus' perspective!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“-have told you many times before, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>cannot</span>
  </em>
  <span> do what you ask me to. When are you going to get that through your thick processor, Megatronus?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The gladiator ground his dentae, glare fixed on the overseer, who hadn’t even moved from his chair throughout the entire argument. His single yellow optic shone sickly in the dim lighting, and his lips were set in a thin, pursed line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was angry. Megatronus could very much relate at that moment. Though granted, he was angry at Megatronus, and Megatronus was angry with </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Hammerlock.” It was hard to keep his anger under control. It took all it had in him not to reach over the battered desk between them and bash in the overseer’s helm. “You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> sway with the Senate. After all this time doing whatever the frag they want, surely you could get away with </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The overseer pinched his nasal ridge, lip curling. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Megatronus.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dear. You’re my favourite Gladiator. I would do anything I could for you. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>this. But you overestimate the power of my position. I do not answer directly to the Senate, and the mech I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> answer to is just as likely to throw me under the bus as he is everyone else. I’m stuck. There is </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>I can do for Orion Pax.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The anger he’d been trying to hold onto rushed out of Megatronus, leaving him feeling nothing but a cold, aching dread that had been simmering beneath the surface since the moment he laid his optics on Orion’s battered, mute frame. There was just so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> with that picture - the Orion he remembered had been small, meek in frame but strong of spark, a civilian through and through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Orion that couldn’t leave his mind eye was so, so different. Scarred. A warframe. Unfamiliar kibble. The very air about him seemed to hold a weariness that had no place being there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Orion that had been dumped into the pits was not the same Orion that Megatronus knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he would be damned if he didn’t find out what the frag was going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen.” Hammerlock said, catching the gladiators attention once more. He had a sour expression on his face, one that said that he was very much doing Megatronus a favour and that he damn well better appreciate it. “I can hold off on placing him in matches for maybe a </span>
  <em>
    <span>week</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Any more than that and the Senate will demand he be put to work - I don’t know what it is that he did, but it’s obvious the Senate wants him to suffer and then eventually be offlined. There is nothing more I can do, so you best whip your little friend into shape or else he wont have a chance at surviving. Are we clear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus let out a heavy vent. A week’s delay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was better than nothing.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Thank you.” He said grudgingly, and Hammerlock waved him out with a scowl. Megatron matched it with his own and stalked out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soundwave slipped out of the shadows, helm tilted in question. Beside him, another shadow detached and slipped into the room Megatronus had just left with a flash of red and black and a small wave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus’ scowl deepened. “What did he want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soundwave rolled his shoulders in a shrug, the screen on his visor flickering with a question mark. There was a rustle of static, and then a soft rumble of a voice, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I can look, but I can’t guarantee I will find anything. You’re in the same boat I am. It’s likely whatever information we can gather will be the same.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> A pause, then a sigh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes, I will tell you as soon as I hear anything of import.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus bit back a sigh. One last glance at the overseer’s office and he turned and started down the hall, Soundwave falling into step beside him. “You think he’s trustworthy? Anyone in Hammerlock’s pocket is out for their own spark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Megatronus could see Soundwave’s face at that moment, he imagined it would have been as exasperated as his EM field felt at his words. Soundwave shook his helm and waved a servo in Megatronus’ direction - and the gladiator bit back a curse and the urge to shove the spymaster into the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like you’re in his pocket?’ is what Soundwave meant. And damn it, Megatronus couldn’t refute that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of causing bodily harm, Megatronus just scowled some more. Soundwave let out a burst of static - a laugh - and then repeated his own word back at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Trustworthy. Yes.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> A pause, a click. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Hate - Senate. More than anything.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like everyone else here does.” The gladiator muttered, but he dropped it. In the end, having two dig into the Senate’s secrets was better than nothing. “Were you able to find out anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soundwave shook his helm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Negative - still out.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was just fragging perfect. Orion had been out for nearly a full day’s rotation, and though Knockout had hurriedly reassured him that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>physically</span>
  </em>
  <span> fine, the different, scarred frame told an entirely different story. The medic-in-training had mentioned there being something wrong with Orion’s chassis, but he hadn’t been able to get a proper reading - not without Orion baring his spark, or forming a hardline connection. As much as Megatronus had wanted to know, wanted to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he couldn’t cross Orion’s boundaries as easily as that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted answers, but he couldn’t betray Orion’s trust. Not when he’d already been betrayed by the people he’d sworn his existence to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Primus, what a mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Orion Pax - is strong.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Soundwave said. He was trying to comfort Megatronus in his own way. He pressed his claws against the newly welded patch on his shoulder, and Megatronus felt a shiver of something crawl down his spinal strut as the memory of Orion slicing it open came to mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I believe - with help - he will be alright.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus let out a soft rumble of agreement, his mind now elsewhere. He remembered when Orion had been carelessly dumped before him and the other gathered gladiators by Hammerlock and his little shadow - the way Orion had </span>
  <em>
    <span>acted</span>
  </em>
  <span> the moment he’d laid eyes on Megatronus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been recognition in those optics. The way he’d moved - the way he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>attacked</span>
  </em>
  <span> had spoken of familiarity and ease. He knew how to wield a blade with deadly accuracy. All of that, Megatronus could have taken as him being disoriented, acting on instinct. He would be lying to himself, but he could have done it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, after waking, even though he seemed more coherent, he treated Megatron with a caution and distrust that he didn’t understand. The last time they had seen each other they had parted on amicable terms. The letters and comms they had sent to one another between then and now had been - been </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So what had happened to make Orion the way he was now? What had the Senate done to him? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why did he look at Megatronus like he was the enemy?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus hated being in the dark more than anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would get to the bottom of things, no matter what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he had to do was make sure his friend didn’t get himself offlined for the enjoyment of a crowd of bloodthirsty mechs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That shouldn’t be too hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Megatronus had the sneaking suspicion that he was lying to himself.)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>//casually writes in some OCs because I can't think of any canon characters to fill the roles </p><p>I mean what</p><p>ANYWAY I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I'mma do my best to go and reply to the previous chapter's comments, even if it's been a hell of a long time :")</p><p>(But yeah this is <a href="https://toyhou.se/7598684.hammerlock">my lil shit Hammerlock</a> btw. I dont have a TFP design for him but it'll happen when I can actually. Draw. His little shadow will be introduced later uwu)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey I'm back with another chapter LOL</p><p>Honestly I'm just SUPER blown away by how much people seem to be liking this;;; It makes me super happy! I'm not much of a writer by any means, so I'm just;;;; super damn happy y'all are enjoying this :")</p><p>I hope you all like this chapter! The world is burning and we could all use a distraction!</p><p>(also yes I most certainly am trying to make Hammerlock a thing)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>
    
  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Optimus woke to a dark, eerily silent room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He online his optics. Cycled them a few times. Turned his helm, taking the room in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was very familiar. It filled him with a sense of nostalgia, one that made his spark </span>
  <em>
    <span>ache</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he brought a servo up to rub at his chassis absently and sat up on the berth he’d been laying in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a bare room. Megatronus, being the darling of the arena, had been allowed a personal room with a private washrack, and his personal belongings - few that they were - were strewn about. Littered on the small side table appeared to be pieces of scrap; a rock that shimmered a little in the light. A tin of polish with a cloth hanging precariously over the edge, looking to fall at any moment. A cracked holographic image that Optimus couldn’t make out even if he tried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the far wall was a shelf of datapads in various conditions - from new to battered and barely functional. Optimus recognised a few titles that he could remember giving Megatronus so long ago, and his spark gave a small flip and fluttered with - with something. He pursed his lips. An insecure part of him had always felt that Megatronus had simply disposed of them, even after learning how studious and well read he was. A great deal of Orion had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>insecure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and had buckled under the intense attention such a powerful mech had bestowed upon him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatron - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Megatronus</span>
  </em>
  <span> had kept them all, and the knowledge had a part of him that Optimus had thought long dead reignighting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus quashed it. He couldn’t deal with it again. Not now. Even if it seemed like his current circumstances would allow it to flourish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter what, Optimus had to stay on guard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There wasn’t much else in the room. A couple of stools and a low sitting table covered in a few more datapads, some polish and a couple tins of paint, and some brushes. Propped against the wall were a couple swords - one mangled, the blade nicked and the top chipped off. The other stained with old, old energon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Orion, Optimus had never been here before. Civilians were not allowed in the Gladiator barracks. That didn’t stop various types of pleasure bots being snuck in, but Orion had been far from a buymech, and Megatronus had never wanted to expose this side of him - the visual proof that Megatronus was an </span>
  <em>
    <span>owned</span>
  </em>
  <span> mech.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of the door sliding open snapped Optimus out of his thoughts, and it took a good deal of willpower to keep his battle protocols offline at the sight of Megatronus blocking the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their optics met, blue on blue. Not blue on </span>
  <em>
    <span>red</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus had to keep reminding himself of that. He clenched his fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus held his stare for what felt like a century, before he looked away and jerked his helm, indicating for Optimus to follow him. “You need to refuel, and now’s going to be the only chance until tomorrow. Come if you don’t want to starve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His tone was short, impatient. Nothing like how Megatronus’ used to be when speaking to Orion. It held none of the softness or charm - and it was because of that, that Optimus found himself </span>
  <em>
    <span>relaxing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. At least a little bit. The short, impolite tone was something familiar. Something that he was much more used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know what he would have done if Megatronus had spoken to him the same way he would have spoken to Orion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Optimus followed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked in silence through deserted, dimly lit halls. It was a lot quieter than Optimus would have thought barracks belonging to gladiators would be - but it became quiet obvious after a few minutes of movement that this hall - this </span>
  <em>
    <span>level</span>
  </em>
  <span> was empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was then Megatronus spoke up. “You’ll be staying with me - at least until you can manage well enough on your own. Usually newbies bunk in groups, but it’ll be easier to keep an eye on you like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus looked over his shoulder at Optimus, his expression grim, before he shook his helm and continued. “The Overseer has so graciously given you a week to adjust before you’re scheduled to be in any matches. Over the course of that week I’m going to put you through a crash course on how life in the pits works.” He didn’t look at Optimus anymore as he said, “I’m going to do all I can to ensure you survive, Orion. You have my word.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was that feeling in Optimus’ spark again. That flip, followed by a flutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was thankful for his battlemask then. And the fact that Megatronus wasn’t looking at him. Who knows what Megatronus would have seen in his expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued on in silence once more. Down on the second level, they moved down a corridor that provided a view of the outside - well, ‘outside’ being an open space with a high domed ceiling, and down on the ground he could see groups of mech kicking up dust - practicing. An area for training then. That would explain the empty corridors - the other gladiators must be getting their fuel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Down another level and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the refectory,” Megatronus rumbled as the door slid open to reveal a large room - a large room, full of mechs emitting </span>
  <em>
    <span>a lot of noise</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus was taken off guard, and it took a moment before he realised Megatronus hadn’t stopped - he’d simply marched right in. Optimus remained frozen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the first time in… He didn't know how long since he'd been surrounded by so many Cybertronians. They had been diminished and scattered for so long - for millennia - that seeing so many crowded into one building was… was…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>frightening.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was bombarded by noise. Yelling, jeering, mechs of all shapes and colours gathered in groups of varying sizes at benches with cubes of energon of various different colours. Optimus squinted. It looked like a good deal of the contents weren’t just energon, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>engex</span>
  </em>
  <span> - and it became obvious why when he caught sight of what looked like a makeshift bar at the far wall, more mechs flocking it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus didn’t move in the direction of the bar. Instead he moved in the opposite direction, beckoning Optimus to follow when he saw Optimus remained frozen in the doorway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus could feel many gazes on him. It wasn’t very obvious - the majority of the mechs around seemed distracted by their own company or their drinks, but he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> the numerous optics looking at him. His audials flicked. He could hear words that he couldn’t quite distinguish, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> were about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made his plating crawl. Paranoia filled him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn't let it </span>
  <em>
    <span>distract him-</span>
  </em>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Optimus sucked in a vent. Raised his helm high, kept his optics locked on Megatronus’ broad back, and followed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus threw the occasional glare and sneer at a few mechs as they passed. It was obvious by the way he moved and the way they reacted to him that he was high in whatever ranking system Gladiators held. They either jeered good-naturedly back, or returned the glare with equal venom - he was never, ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>ignored.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A fragment of a memory came to Optimus. Another talk, in Orion's tiny, barely livable habsuite. Megatronus' bitterness, coating his words with poison as he talked of how strength was nothing if you weren't popular with the crowds. Of how one's abilities meant nothing if the nobility watching didn't have a personal investment in your matches. Of how you had to grit your teeth and bite your glossa if you were asked to entertain after a match-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loud bark of laughter tore Optimus from the memory. It was with a start that Optimus recognised </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grimlock</span>
  </em>
  <span> seated at an end table, and his optics widened as he watched the not-yet-dinobot attempt to trip up Megatronus with a raucous laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> stumbled. He barked out a curse and cuffed Grimlock’s helm, but the other mech didn’t seem to take offence - just attempted another kick, to which Megatronus snorted and returned with a rude gesture before continuing on, an almost grin on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimlock turned his attention to Optimus as he passed. He couldn’t see the gladiator’s optics behind his visor or make out his expression, but Optimus knew he was being judged. He was given one very obvious once-over before he looked away - a clear dismissal, and Optimus had to keep a sudden, hysterical laugh under control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d always had to fight for Grimlock’s respect. Looks like he’d have to earn it once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatron seated himself at an empty bench - or rather, it seemed empty at first, until Optimus noted Soundwave sitting there as well, shadowed by a nearby column. There were three cubes already there, the spymaster having gathered them beforehand, and for a moment Optimus felt a thread of trepidation at the thought of joining them.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The enemy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out a heavy vent. They weren’t the enemy. Not now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not yet</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thought came to him. A small, barely formed one that crept into his processor and made itself at home.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What if they never have to become the enemy?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And then a more tank churning, insidious one that sank its tendrils in deep and tried to take root.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What if he got rid of them before they had the chance to become the enemy?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He sat down heavily, trying to banish the line of thought before he actually, seriously </span>
  <em>
    <span>considered</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. It just - it wasn’t the way he worked. It wasn’t the way he would </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>work.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Primus, he was a fool.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It took all he had not cradle his helm in his servos. He tried to steady his venting, suddenly feeling like he was going to purge. His tank was empty, so it wasn’t like anything would come up, but -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink.” Megatronus’ voice rang in his audials and Optimus gave a start, optics snapping up to meet his, hunted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus’ optics narrowed. He shoved one of the cubes towards him and swiped up one for himself. The third was now mysteriously empty, Soundwave’s claws absently tracing the edge, the spymaster’s helm tilted in Optimus’ direction - watching him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It did not help the hunted feeling. Not at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus curled a servo around the offered cube, trying to keep it steady. The other he placed in his lap, clenched. The noise - which had almost seemed deafening before - certainly felt like it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to leave his future enemies where they sat, go somewhere dark and quiet and just - pretend none of this was happening -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Orion?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic crept through his processor. It made his body heavy, too hot, too cold - dueling sensations that confused his sensornet. His spark felt too big for it’s casing and -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just sudden, eerie silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus looked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus was looking at him, expression grim - </span>
  <em>
    <span>concern</span>
  </em>
  <span> in his optics, that definitely had to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>concern</span>
  </em>
  <span> -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then Megatronus wasn’t looking at him, but instead looking over his shoulder. Soundwave has shifted, sitting up straighter, plating flaring in a sign of aggravation-</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Orion Pax.” A voice said from behind his shoulder, tone silken, almost mocking, and Optimus felt a shudder crawl down his spinal strut. A servo clamped down on his shoulder armour, overly familiar and unwelcome, and Optimus saw red. He clenched his free servo tighter, blade releasing-</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Megatronus jumped to his pedes with a snarl, servo slamming down on the table, causing the energon cubes to clatter and the one he had been drinking to topple over and spill. “What the frag do you want, Hammerlock? You very clearly told me I had a week-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Calm yourself.” The tone had changed to one of annoyance. The servo on Optimus’ shoulder disappeared, and the relief Optimus felt was immediate. He turned his helm, looking at the offender through narrowed optics. “I merely came to collect my own ration and check up on our new arrival. Is that so wrong?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The mech was small - at least, smaller than Optimus, which wasn’t hard considering the bulk the Matrix had previously rebuilt him with. The mech - Hammerlock - came up to just a little past Optimus’ shoulder. With purple and red plating and flickering yellow biolights, the mech carried himself with an air of refinery that didn’t seem all that suited for the pits. After a once over, Optimus would guess that the mech had a rotary alt. mode, if the blades protruding from his back were any indication.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus was glaring, sharp teeth bared in a snarl. Hammerlock’s plating flared, lips twisting into a matching snarl, baring his own sharpened teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you can see, he is fine. So why don’t you collect your ration and </span>
  <em>
    <span>kindly leave</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Megatronus rumbled. He shifted, placing his servo flat and leaned forwards - into Hammerlock’s space. With Megatronus standing, the difference in height was more obvious - Hammerlock barely came up to his chest, and Megatronus was used to using his height to intimidate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blades on Hammerlock’s back clattered together, and he stood straighter, glare darkening. He placed his servos behind his back and tilted his helm. “I intend to. However-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He turned to look at Optimus, and his expression melted back into a smile. It seemed so </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so practiced, but it didn’t reach his optic. It was as yellow as the biolights peppering his frame, and the other appeared to be hidden behind an optic aid - very suddenly, the mech seemed so </span>
  <em>
    <span>personable</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Optimus knew not to trust it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you have probably learned, I am Hammerlock.” He introduced himself. He placed a servo on his chassis and gave a short bow. “I am the overseer appointed to this particular establishment. If you have anything you need to know, or need a helping servo, I’m more than happy to be of assistance. Now, I will leave you to enjoy your night cycle, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> hope you adjust well enough before your first match.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a snort from Megatronus. Hammerlock didn’t even look at him. He seemed to not expect an answer from Optimus, as he turned on his heel to leave. He suddenly wasn’t alone, either. An even smaller mech appeared by his side, dark in colouring, face hidden by a mask and visor, carrying two energon cubes. The mech didn’t spare any of them a glance as they fell into step by Hammerlock’s side, and together they disappeared amongst the rows of seated gladiators.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus sat back down with a low growl, glaring at their retreating backs. “It would have been nice to be warned of his approach.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Soundwave rolled his shoulders in a shrug. A recording of an unfamiliar voice sounded, “No threat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus scoffed, scooped up his cube of half-spilled energon, and downed it in a single gulp. He slammed the cube back down, dark scowl in place - looking more like the Megatron Optimus remembered in that moment. “Talking to him always leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. No matter what you say, I don’t trust that mech.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soundwave just shrugged again - and suddenly, his attention was on Optimus. Optimus stiffened, watching as Soundwave raised a servo - and pointed it at his energon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink.” A recording of Megatronus’ voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus grimaced. His tank still churned - he was still </span>
  <em>
    <span>very much</span>
  </em>
  <span> on edge, and the thought of consuming any fuel made him want to purge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But… he did need it. He’s been running on fumes for a long time now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, he retracted his battlemask, and sipped at the energon. It was cold as it went down his intake and settled heavily within him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Uncomfortable.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Soundwave moved again - placing his servo on the table, palm upwards, claws relaxed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An invitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus swallowed another mouthful, eyeing it wearily. It made sense that Megatronus would want him to talk, and that Soundwave - being the one to know Hand - was the only way to get the information that he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus didn't trust this situation in the least. He was in a time that had long since passed, and his only allies were the two mechs who were to become his greatest enemies. Truly, there wasn't any other choice he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>but</span>
  </em>
  <span> to trust them. His processor kept flip flopping, trying to figure out the best course of action; what he wouldn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>give</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Prowl's calm, logical reasoning in that moment - but Primus, Prowl had died during Cybertron's destruction so long ago -</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, no it hadn't happened yet - </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuttered his optics. Vented a few times. Retracted the blade protruding from his wrist, hidden by the table, and brought it into view before slowly placing it in Soundwave's claws.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Megatronus was watching him. Not his servo currently held in Soundwaves, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Studying him. His optics, his face. The way he held himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was greatly discomforting. Optimus wondered just what Megatronus saw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soundwave's claws skirted gently over Optimus' palm. A brief, cursory inquiry, asking about how he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus laughed. He couldn't help it. No noise escaped him, just a whoosh of air as it left his vents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The place where his vocalisor once was felt strained, almost. He wondered distantly if the sensation was actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or if he were imagining it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus was tired of lying. Of sugarcoating things. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was so damn tired</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I am not / I do not think I will be.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Was his answer, a faint smile on his face. He didn’t... </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he was giving up, but it felt like the admission was a weight off his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was done lying to himself</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>We will help you / Megatronus promises / I promise.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Soundwave replied with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The response felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>earnest</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Like it was a truth that Soundwave genuinely believed in, and Optimus -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to believe him.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>That thought hit him once more, not yet fully corrupted by the one that had followed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What if they never have to become the enemy?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus wanted, desperately, to just be done with everything. He’d thought he would be, after he’d sacrificed himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to give up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But… He never was able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> give up, was he.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Especially not when it came to Megatron.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And this… this was a second chance, in a way, wasn’t it? A chance for everything he had experienced to never happen. A chance to save so many lives…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chance to save Megatron.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let us help you.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Soundwave said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus smiled. A small, wan thing, and replied, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Alright.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you guys liked this chapter!! Your comments absolutely mean the world to me!!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you enjoyed! Any comments or feedback are appreciated!!</p><p>For more art and social stuff, follow me on:</p><p>Twitter: https://twitter.com/BlackberrehArt</p><p>Tumblr: https://blackberreh-art.tumblr.com/</p></blockquote></div></div>
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